Humanity
by HeartsandEyesDelight
Summary: Post-Ep for Fur and Loathing. Grissom contemplates furries. :


Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc.

A/N: This was one of my many attempts for CSIFO's fanfic challenge last month and is, as such, exactly 1,000 words. I opted not to go with it for the challenge, but I figured it couldn't hurt to post.

Especially since my wonderfully amazing beta, PatiH, liked it so much.

I hope you guys do too. :)

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><p>Though he'd preached to Catherine that the only abnormal sexuality was the absence of one… he'd never imagined that he would relate to the people at the convention on any level other than an intellectual one. He was a man who knew what it was to be judged, and it had shaped much of his life, habits, and personality. He didn't wish to pass judgment on anyone, and he didn't like to see others do it either.<p>

But that didn't mean that he thought "Sexy Kitty" was anything but a middle-aged man in a blue cat suit.

He just hadn't anticipated the dreams.

Of course, it wasn't like she was in full-blown raccoon attire, or anything. It was closer to the mainstream. But in the context of the case, and knowing exactly why his subconscious was choosing this moment to have such an appreciation for Playboy, well…

It was unnerving.

Say what he might about there being no "normal," and think what he may about judgment… He did not want to see himself as a furry. Not least of all because his research into the subject had told him that, despite how the participants may explain it, a good portion of the motivation for expressing one's sexuality in this way was due to a difficulty in relating to people. Certain personality disorders definitely resulted in their sufferers having stronger relationships with animals than people, avoiding people in general, and even having relationships with inanimate objects.

Which, he supposed, was where the plushies came in.

_He_ kept to himself. _He_ didn't invite people in. He talked to his spider, Stevie, about his problems, and only small-talked with his deaf mother. He led a quiet life, and his companions were the kind with exoskeletons and shadowboxes—hardcovers and indexes. When you added the dreams into his solitary existence, it did seem a little… worrisome.

Sara in a full Playboy Bunny suit, complete with a soft, cottony tail on her tight, beautiful ass. Sara with kitty ears and painted-on whiskers… black bra and thong and a tail that she held in one hand and kept running between her breasts. Sara as a lion, her curls a wild, dark honey-colored mane, crawling towards him in a tawny, lacy teddy.

And the dreams were relentless. Five in a night, and he woke from them as if they were nightmares, except for the straining erection taunting him with his own potential inadequacies. He'd never been what anyone would consider "normal," but he didn't welcome the possibility of a personality disorder either.

Perhaps on purpose, the convention took place the week of Halloween, so he had no reprieve between the case, his dreams, and a day full of seeing full grown women in lingerie and animal ears. Sara did not come to work dressed as anything, but he spent the night trying to avoid pedestrians on the strip and on Freemont who were borderline furries themselves, and several of his call outs were domestic disputes between men and their girlfriends in animal attire.

It felt like a repeat of the strange case all over again, and he was beyond relieved when the night was over, and he could unlace his work boots, pop some migraine medication, and plan how much scotch he would need to ingest to stop the dreams from returning, in force, that night.

Of course, this is when Greg and Sara moved into the locker room together, Greg apparently trying to cajole her into something. "C'mon! It'll be really low-key. Just a few people who had to work last night, having a few drinks before they go home for the day to catch some Z's… Look, I even got a costume for you!"

And without any kind of fair warning to Grissom's heart at all, Greg pulled a headband with tiger ears out of his locker, slid it onto Sara's head, and stood back to take in the effect.

"Rawr! Looking like that, you _can__'__t_ say no!"

She shook her head, pulling the headband away, her eyes flickering to Grissom even as her cheeks pinkened. "Greg. I'm tired. I've got three active cases, all of which have evidence that should be done processing by the beginning of next shift. I just want to go home and crash." She handed the ears back to him, and though he wanted to protest, Grissom's presence seemed to stop him. He sighed and gave in, they exchanged goodbyes, and the DNA tech shuffled out, leaving them alone.

It was a slightly uncomfortable silence, so, naturally, Sara tried to fill it. "…You never did tell me about your last case." She smiled a little. "The guys were pretty mean about the whole 'furry' thing, actually. I tried to tell them that everyone has their kinks but… Well," She rolled her eyes, "You can imagine how that went."

Yes, he could imagine Greg, Nick and Warrick teasing her into revealing her own "kinks". He wished he could do the same. He wished he could get those tiger ears back from Greg. How foolish of him, really, to have imagined any other animal. They brought out the red tones in her hair and there was something fierce and exotic about the animal… All that coiled strength beneath a veneer of dangerous beauty.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd pushed her against her locker and pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue forcing entry and his breathing coming hard. She acquiesced to him, unquestioning, and his knee slid between her thighs before he came to his senses.

He jerked away, and though he tried to tell her, "I'm sorry," all that came out was a strangled sound of longing and regret. Then he turned on his heel, and was gone.

He didn't know it at the time, but that kiss was the beginning for him. The slippery slope.

And even though he waited another two years to see her in those ears again… Sara assured him his response was entirely _human_.


End file.
